Music Of The Heart
by Avoline Malfoy
Summary: Sherlock is shaken after his latest case, and takes off alone to clear his mind. But what will happen when he meets someone who truly understands him? Takes place around TRF, totally different ending, hope I've got Sherlock right, rated M just in case.
1. Shaken

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_Yep, I've been Sherlocked. I'm watching both season over again as I type this, actually. My two-year-old seems to enjoy it as well. Just like her mummy._

_So, this one is set around the time of TRF. Only difference, Sherlock doesn't fall, Moriarty is caught, and everything is good. Or is it?_

_I'm not really sure where this story will go, so I'm just gonna wing it._

_Sit back and enjoy!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

Sherlock rode in the cab, glad to have Moriarty behind bars, where he would never cause havoc again. The case had not really been difficult until the police began to doubt him, but that was quickly sorted out. Everyone he knew, everyone he cared about, was safe now. He could sleep easily tonight.  
If he could fall asleep.

The case had done a number on him, hence why he was taking a cab to Russel Square. He needed to clear his mind. He had never been so afraid for John's life, aside from the incident with Irene Adler. Had John not found a way to make sure everyone was safe, who knows what the raven-headed man would have had to do to ensure that everyone made it out alive.

By the time Lestrade told him that all the assassins had been taken into custody, Holmes was _visibly_ trembling.

He paid the cabbie his fare, then shook his head. The only way he would get any rest tonight would be to clear his mind of the case entirely. Lock it away in his memory, never to haunt him at night. He had not had a nightmare since he was about five. He refused to start having them again.

A body bumped into him, and he heard books hit the ground.

"Oh, my God," a voice, clearly feminine, stated. "I am so sorry! I am so, so sorry!" Without looking at who was apologizing to him, he dropped down and began picking up the books, about five to be exact.

"No, it's my fault," he countered, feeling that, after this god-given second chance, he should start being a bit nicer. "I wasn't pay attention. No need to apologize." He reached for one paperback book at the same time as it's owner, their hands touching for only a moment. He lifted his eyes...

And saw, what he thought, was the most beautiful person in the world.

She was young, probably mid-twenties, with deep blue eyes that border-lined black. Her copper-colored hair was pulled away from her face, which was roundish with a pointed nose. Her Cupid's-bow lips were tinted red, either from a light application of lip tinter or from the cold.

In his hard-to-impress opinion, she was about as close to perfect as it got.

"Here," he stammered stupidly, handing her the three books he had managed to pick up. "My mind was elsewhere. I apologize."

"No, don't," she breathed as they both stood. "I had my nose stuck in A Tale Of Two Cities. I probably should have sat down to read it instead of trying to walk and read." He chuckled.

"Sounds like something my good friend would say," he mused. She smiled at him, and he figured he could give himself this one moment to just be the average person.

"My name is Sherlock, by the way. Sherlock Holmes." He extended his hand, and she grasped it in hers.

"Annabelle King," she replied. "I had heard this was the best park around." He bit back the laugh.

"I take it you're not from around here," he inquired. She shook her head.

"No, actually," she answered. "I just move here not three months ago from America. You're the first person I've met aside from my land lord, my boss, and three of my coworkers." He took a place beside her and offered his arm.

"Shall I show you around the garden," he proposed. She placed a hand on the inside of his elbow, and he couldn't stop the giddiness from showing.

He pointed out the different bushes, telling her about the flowers that were produced by them and the various colors each one came in. She was hanging on to every word, he could tell, and he let his guard slowly lower. This only happened with John, and on the rare occasion with Molly. This Annabelle King would probably be the one person that he could truly be him with. She didn't seem put-off by his intelligence, and he relaxed in her presence. Before long, they sat on a bench, both smiling from ear to ear.

"Thank you so much," she laughed. "I would have never been able to tell the difference in the bushes had you not told me." He cocked his head to one side, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

"You aren't offended by my demeanor," he questioned before he could stop himself.

"Lord, no," she responded. "It's actually nice to know that there's someone who can help me learn as much as humanly possible." He raised an eyebrow at her words. "I'm guessing everyone else isn't very impressed by you."

"Not exactly," he answered softly.

"Then they're idiots," she stated simply. "That or they wish they were as intelligent." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, God, it's getting late. I really should be getting home." He stood and offered his hand once again.

"Let me escort you home," he insisted. "It's the least I can do after so rudely bumping into you." She gave him an astonished look before placing her hand in his.

He made sure to get her cell phone number before making his way back to 221B Baker Street.


	2. Nervous

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_Oh, so you want more, eh?_

_Then you shall receive more._

_Here's the second chapter. Do enjoy, as I was up early this morning with the kiddo and I can barely keep my eyes open._

_Sit back and enjoy!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

He pulled the bow across the strings, experimenting with the notes until he found the combination he wanted, then stopped long enough to chart them down on the blank sheet music. This tune was actually quite cheerful, and he was smiling the whole time.

In all honesty, he had not stopped smiling since the night before.

Whatever magic had conspired between Annabelle and himself, it was still affecting him. He had slept well, and was still smiling when he awoke. He knew instantly that he had to compose a piece for her. Maybe she enjoyed the violin as much as he did. Maybe she enjoyed music in general. She could quite possibly be the singing type.

His grin widened as he set his chin against the instrument.

"You're in a good mood today," John stated as he walked into the kitchen. "What happened last night while you were out?" The taller man set his violin down and trotted to the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

"I met a woman," he answered gleefully. The blond's eyebrow rose to his hairline.

"A woman," he responded skeptically. "And what makes her different from the rest of them?"

"I'm not sure," Sherlock replied. "But she's definitely different. There's just that something about her, and can't put my finger on it just yet." John shrugged and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

"Maybe it's best if you didn't know," he suggested. "Otherwise she'd become just another woman."

"Says the man who can barely tell his ex girlfriend's apart," the brunette scoffed.

"Just don't look too much into it," John reiterated. "It's nice to see you grinning like a fool for something other than a murder."

* * *

He called her at about three in the afternoon. He remembered her saying that her shift ended by then, and he truly wanted to spend time with her again. He felt so relaxed around her the other night. He wanted to experience that again.

"Mr. Holmes, to what do I owe the pleasure," she greeted, causing him to laugh.

"I was wondering if you do me the honor of having dinner tonight," he answered. He heard her giggle through the phone.

"Is the great Sherlock Holmes asking me on a date," she questioned.

"Are you stunned," he countered lightfheartedly.

"A bit. I would think you would be busy with another murder."

"Not for another week. This last case was a bit challenging, and I'm basically taking a holiday." Her laugh reached his ears, making his smile grow.

"Pick me up around five," she instructed. "And wear your best. For I shall be wearing mine."

His heart was pounding when he hung up.

* * *

He stood before the door to her flat, his palms nearly pouring sweat. He had never been on a date before, and had it not been for John, he would have worn a full suit and bow tie. He took a deep breath and raised his hand.

It's now or never.

He pressed the buzzer, glancing around as he did. Maybe he should just bow out now. She would never notice, and he'd probably never bump into her again.

The door opened, and he looked up to see a sight reserved for the lucky.

She was wearing a deep purple cocktail dress, the fabric hugging her body just right. It was one shouldered, something he was sure she would regret later, and it stopped just above her knees. Her black pumps made the purple that much more noticeable, and the black handbag told him all he needed to know. Her hair was styled perfectly, and the polish on her nails matched the shade of red on her lips.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss her right now.

"Right on time, Mr. Holmes," she smiled, and he returned that smile. He stepped back as she closed and locked the door, and offered his arm, just like the night before. "So, what treat are you bestowing upon me tonight?" He chuckled and opened the door to the cab.

"You'll see," he whispered, allowing her into the vehicle first. "To Harwood Arms, please."

"Harwood Arms," she inquired.

"Best restaurant in London," he replied. "You'll love it. Good British cooking and fine wine." She gave him an astonished smile.

"You're pulling out the best, aren't you?" He grinned and kissed her cheek.

"You did say to wear my best. I almost went black tie."


	3. Awe-struck

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_I decided to upload this chapter a bit early for you guys. I'm sure you want more, so I'm giving it to you!_

_Sherlock is going all out isn't he? One of the nicest restaurants in London, if my research is right._

_So, how will their date go?_

_Sit back and find out!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

He smiled at her as she took a bite of her cod, noticed that she was savoring the flavor. He cut off a bite of his lamb and held it towards her, the meat perched precariously on his fork.

"Would you like to try a bit off mine," he offered. Her smile appeared, that smile that he had grown fond of so quickly.

"Why, thank you," she responded, leaning forward and taking the meat off the utinsle with her teeth. He kept full control of his breathing, thankful that she couldn't see the obvious effect she was having on him.

What was it about her that made her so different? Even Irene Adler didn't strike him as suitable. So why was Annabelle so attractive to him? It wasn't her looks. Not that she wasn't beautiful, by any means. She was quite remarkable, if he was being honest. But looks were only skin deep. Could it possibly be her mind? She was reading A Tale of two Cities when they met, a novel that only the intelligent mind could follow properly.

"That is amazing," she laughed, pulling him from his thoughts. He smiled, taking a sip of the Quinta de la Rosa.

"The finest in British cuisine," he countered. "Tell me, what prompted you to move here? I thought all Americans would hate the idea of living elsewhere?" She sighed and stirred her glass of Quinta do Noval.

"My mom died when I was three," she began. "My dad raised me as best he could. About a year ago, he passed away as well. I finished college, cause I knew that's what he would want, but once that was over, there was nothing holding me to the States. My parents didn't have any siblings, and my grandparents all died long before I was born. So, I packed my bags and gave myself a fresh start." Her eyes met his.

"I am so sorry," he apologized. "I didn't know..."

"No, no, it's okay," she intoned. "I'm fine with it. All of it. I knew you'd want to know anyway. Better get it out in the open now." She took another bite of her entree, smiling at him, trying to let him know that it was fine. "What about your family?" He chuckled and took another bite.

"I've got an older brother," he started. "Our father was in politics and was away for most of our childhood. My brother went to boarding school while I spent most of my formative years with our mother. Come to think of it, I don't think my brother and I have ever really gotten along that well." She nodded.

"So I can expect an interesting debate when he's around," she inquired. He chuckled as he finished off his dish.

"Very much so," he answered.

If she ever meets Mycroft, that is.

* * *

He walked beside her, his coat draped over her shoulders. He knew she would need it, but had politely kept his mouth shut. They had both decided to walk, wanting to spend as much time getting to know each other. During their two hour walk so far, he had learned that she was schooled in business, could play the piano, and was quite the vocalist. He, in turn, had told her about John and Mrs. Hudson, divulged in the talent of violin, and his brother's education in politics.

"He sounds rather dull," she laughed. "No offense."

"None taken," he replied. "He is dull, in all honesty. He drives me mad whenever we are in the same room." He smiled as they reached her flat. "It seems our date has ended all too soon."

"And I was having so much fun," she protested. He turned around, taking her hands in his.

"I look forward to our next date," he vowed. "And there will be a next date." She smiled at him, and he felt his heart flutter.

How could she do this to him? She was an ordinary girl of twenty-eight from the United States. What was it about her that was so special that the sociopathic side of him went into hiding? Was the her bright, positive outlook on life? Or was it the hope that always lingered in her eyes? Whatever it was, he wanted more of it in his life. No, he was sure that he needed it in his life. If not with her, then with someone who offered the same thing.

Oh, how he wanted it to be her, though.

"I enjoyed myself, Sherlock," she stated. "Do call me again soon." He chuckled.

"Of course I will," he promised. He leaned towards her, his eyes sliding closed.

His body took flight as their lips pressed against each other. He wondered, through he foggy haze, if this was what he had been denying himself. He barely felt her arms circling his neck as his hands cupped her face.  
He had never been more afraid of having something taken away from him.

As they broke apart, each gasping for air, he felt his smile grow.

"That was amazing," she breathed.

He couldn't have agreed more.


	4. Helping

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_OMG I am SO SORRY for the long wait! I didn't have the next chapter ready, and then real life got crazy, my daughter spilled something on my keyboard, and I just got a new one. I swear, I will never make you wait this long ever again!_

_Now, Sherlock experience his first kiss! XD Will Annabelle be the making of Sherlock Holmes, or will she only break his heart?_

_Sit back and find out!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

It was three days time before he called her again. He felt horrible for having to wait so long, but he had been asked to consult on a case, and that alone took up so much of his time. Any free time he had, he knew she would be asleep or at work. His throat went dry as he dialed her number.

"Sherlock," she answered, a hint of fear in her voice.

"I am so sorry, Annabelle," he apologized. "I was asked to consult on a case, and it took up so much of my time. I should have told-"

"So that was you," she questioned.

"What?"

"How did you not notice? Sherlock, that was my next door neighbor! You have no clue how many times I thought of you these past three days!" He let out a sigh of relief.

"So you're not angry," he inquired.

"Hell no," she replied. "The whole time I kept thinking, 'If only Sherlock were on the case. They would have this figured out by now!'" He laughed.

"It's kinda tough getting that dull lot to listen to me," he confessed. "They don't like it when an outside source can solve the case faster than their own."

"Their loss," she stated simply. "I'm off all day if you want to hang out." He grinned.

"Would you mind if I brought my violin?"

* * *

He looked around as he entered the flat. There were still boxes everywhere, telling him that she had yet to find time to unpack. She probably had all the essentials put away or at least out where she could get to them, but the flat still lacked her touch. Aside from the piano against one wall, all trace of her personality were absent.

That would never do.

"Annabelle," he called. "How about I help you unpack before we start playing the instruments?" She stuck her head out of the kitchen, a small smile on her face.

"As much as I would appreciate the help, I couldn't ask you to do that," she answered.

"Nonsense," he retorted, setting his violin case on the couch. "John and I were unpacked within a few weeks, but we had the help of each other. You've got me now. No reason why I shouldn't help." He straightened up and met her gaze. "So, where do we start?" She laughed a bit.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

* * *

He grinned as he placed the last trinket on the mantle. They had managed to empty every box and find somewhere for all of her stuff. She had at least ten of the Breyer's horse figurines, some small, some large, a collection of coins from around the world, and a very nice set of cookware.

"Thank you," she laughed, bringing in two cups of tea from the kitchen. "I would have never gotten unpacked had it not been for you." He chuckled, accepting one of the cups.

"It was my pleasure," he responded. "I couldn't let you live with all your stuff packed away." She sat on the couch and smiled at him.

"How many songs do you know on the violin," she inquired. He moved the case and sat next to her.

"At least twelve or more," he answered. "Most of them Christmas songs, but I do know a few classics."

"Do you also compose?" He smirked and took a sip of tea.

"Of course."

"Play for me, if it's not too much trouble," she requested. He set his tea on the coffee table and kissed her cheek.

"Never too much trouble."

* * *

He pulled the bow across the strings, the sheet music appearing in his mind. He played the instrument as though his life depended on it, pouring his soul into the music. His eyes had been closed since he rested the wooden object against his shoulder, and he focused on two things: playing, and keeping the nervousness at bay.

He wanted this to be perfect.

Who was he kidding? He could nail each note with ease.

So why was playing for her so different from playing with a crowd around?

He forced the questions away and focused on the music, ending with a flourish. His eyelids slid open and met her gaze.

"That was beautiful, Sherlock," she murmured, her eyes wide with awe. He smiled and put the violin back in it's case.

"I wrote it for you," he stated simply. He straightened up, nearly jumping at the sight of her standing toe to toe with him.

"Thank you," she whispered. He cupped one cheek with his hand.

"No need," he countered.

_Cause you were worth it._


End file.
